


Vinny the needy

by youcouldmakealife



Series: Vinny gets a life [22]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-28 13:38:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5092760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s not stupid to be lonely,” Fourns says, almost gentle.</p>
<p>“I’m being needy,” Thomas says.</p>
<p>“You keep saying that,” Fourns says. “Which fuckwit told you that? I swear to god.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vinny the needy

Meg may be gone, but Thomas can’t stop thinking about what she said, that he isn’t telling people about himself because he wants to be liked, and. He does want to be liked, he thinks everyone wants to be liked, don’t they? But the way she phrased it, it was an accusation. The way she phrased it made him feel like a coward, and he isn’t one, he doesn’t think. He tries not to be one, at least. 

Meg suggested telling people like Fourns, Chloe, Anton, but that’s — just thinking about telling them makes him feel a little ill. Or big ill. Meg and gluten ill. He could talk about it with a teammate, maybe, Bovard, even Lapointe — he knows Lapointe wants to talk to him about it — and though Carmen would make fun of him and has a big mouth, he wouldn’t tell anyone if Thomas told him not to, but those are still people he sees practically every day. He’s told three of the most important people in his life, but every time it’s been because he felt he had to, because he didn’t want Meg to think that she was the problem, because he didn’t want his mom hating Anton for no reason. Because he knew they’d love him anyway, and he thinks Mich and Clo would, thinks Tony would, but it’s still petrifying.

He has to tell someone though, just so Meg won’t be right, which is a petty reason, but at least it’s a petty reason to do something he thinks he needs to get used to, because he’s tired, he’s felt so tired lately, and this isn’t the only reason why, but it might be one of them. He’s never liked secrets. He doesn’t like feeling like he’s keeping one.

The next day after practice he returns to a text from Veronique, a picture of all the little goalies, and Thomas grins at it. It’s good timing. Veronique knows him and Anton, but she isn’t like Carmen or Lapointe, someone he wouldn’t be able to avoid if things were really awkward. Thomas steels himself, writes out a text, thinking _so there, Meg_ , and then _petty, Thomas, stop it_ , in a voice that sounds a lot like his mom’s.

_anton has a girlfriend and im upset_ , Thomas sends, then, after internally panicking for a minute, realises how weird that must have been to receive. _is it super weird for me to send u this?_

_kinda weird but no worries_ , Veronique sends back. _is this a romantic thing or a buddies thing?_

_is both a weird answer?_ Thomas responds. 

_i am totally used to weird with you. it’s fun! i feel like your mentor like yoda or something. feel how do you? that probably sucked. i tried._ Veronique sends, a garbled mix of French and like, Yoda English, and Thomas stifles a laugh. 

Anton turns his head vaguely Thomas’ way, looking away from his phone, where he’s probably texting his girlfriend. Thomas isn’t proud that _his girlfriend_ is said a little viciously in his head. He’s sure she’s great. He doesn’t really know, either way, since Anton always goes to her place, like he’s afraid Thomas will infect her with friendliness or something, but she likes Anton, which means Thomas would probably like her. Thomas likes everyone who likes Anton. 

“You can have the car,” Anton says. “I’m meeting up with Amanda.”

“Cool,” Thomas says, and on a whim, because he doesn’t want to go home and dwell, think about how Veronique seemed to take it well, but that text can hide anything, sends Veronique a text saying, _what are u doing right now?_

_nothing it’s a day off and i’m so bored right now_ , Veronique sends back immediately. 

_come over in a bit?_ Thomas sends back.

_for the record this is weird_ Veronique returns.

_anton wont be there_ , Thomas sends back. _i’ll make you food!_

_only because that was a good breakfast_ , Veronique returns, and she arrives about ten minutes after Thomas gets home, while he’s figuring out lunch.

“Can I help?” she asks, and she’s actually helpful, follows directions, seems to know what she’s doing, and it feels like everything gets done in half the time it usually takes. 

“Want to talk about it?” Veronique asks, once they sit down to eat.

“Not really?” Thomas says. Even that text was exhausting.

“Cool,” she says. “Want to talk about baby goalies?”

“Always,” Thomas says, and Veronique gives him an update on the girls, which ends up leading to talking about the CWHL season, and when Anton gets home they’re huddled in front of Thomas’ laptop watching highlights from a Furies-Blades game. Thomas kind of wasn’t expecting Anton to be back until tonight, or maybe tomorrow, and Veronique grimaces when the door shuts, is already half out of her seat by the time Anton comes into the living room.

“I’m going to go,” she says, before anyone’s even said anything, and Thomas would argue, but he knows she must feel awkward, so he just walks her to the door, ignoring Anton when he brushes past him. 

“Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to make things awkward.”

“I know,” she says. “Let’s eat out next time?”

“For sure,” Thomas says, and she exchanges a quick flurry of cheek kisses with him, is in her coat and out the door in under a minute flat.

Anton’s in the doorway between the kitchen and the hallway, leaning on the frame.

“There’s leftovers in the fridge if you haven’t—” Thomas starts.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Anton interrupts. 

“What, I’m not allowed to invite people over?” Thomas snaps. Between Sandro, Meg, and Veronique, Anton’s been an ass every time Thomas invited someone, and it’s his choice not to invite his girlfriend over, but Thomas doesn’t need to ask his permission to invite others over, especially since he isn’t even around most of the time. 

“Not people I’ve fucked,” Anton snaps back.

“Just because you’re weird about it doesn’t mean you have to make it weird for everyone else,” Thomas says.

“ _I’m_ weird about it?” Anton asks. “ _I am_? How the fuck would you even know?”

Thomas doesn’t let himself flinch, though he wants to. It’s a reflex that you get rid of fast, as a goalie. 

“Treating people with a little human decency, that’s so weird, Tony,” Thomas says, and when Anton rolls his eyes, “What do you care, you’re never around. I don’t even see you anymore.”

“You don’t—” Anton starts, and then laughs, ugly. “I share a fucking room on the road with you. We have practices, games. You see me every day. What the fuck else do you want from me, Thomas, I’m sorry you’re so needy you can’t handle being alone for five minutes.”

Thomas does flinch that time, because some reflexes you can’t get rid of, no matter how long you try.

“Okay,” he mumbles.

“Vin,” Anton says, quiet now. “I didn’t mean that.”

“Yes you did,” Thomas mumbles. “It’s okay, you’re right.”

“No I’m _not_ ,” Anton says. “I was being an asshole. Vinny.”

Thomas flinches away from his hand when it touches his shoulder. Anton’s usually so good at knowing when he doesn’t want to be touched.

“I’m going to go to my room,” Thomas says. “I’m. It’s fine, you’re right.”

“Tommy,” Anton says.

“You know I don’t like being called that,” Thomas says, and if Anton says anything else when Thomas is walking to his room, he doesn’t hear it.

Thomas stands in the middle of his room for a minute, feeling stranded. He wants to talk to someone, but Meg and his mom are at work, and Meg would just probably say shitty things about Anton, which is the last thing Thomas needs right now. In the end he pulls his phone out of his pocket, feels it heavy in his hand, before he sits down on his bed, tucks his knees to his chest. 

_I need to talk to u_ , Thomas sends Fournier.

_how is it possible that I hear even more from you now?_ Fournier sends back almost immediately. 

Thomas bites his lip hard. _ok nevermind sorry_ he types, eyes blurry. 

His phone rings in his hand, and he picks it up, a little reluctant.

“I can give you space if you want,” Thomas says. “I don’t mean to be needy.”

“That was a joke, Vin, if you’re needy then my mom’s needy, she called me twice today,” Fourns says.

“I’m sorry, you can tell me to stop calling,” Thomas manages.

“I called _you_ , dork,” Fournier says. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’m fine, I’ll leave you alone,” Thomas says.

There’s a knock on the door, and he covers the phone. “Go away,” he shouts, feeling like he’s about ten years old.

“I’m going to go,” he tells Mich once he’s put the phone to his ear again.

“No you fucking won’t, did you just yell at someone?” Fournier asks. 

“It’s fine,” Thomas says.

“Stop saying it’s fine and tell me what’s up,” Fournier says, voice firm, like when he’d tell Thomas they’d kill it, or that the Habs fans were assholes for booing him, the voice that said Thomas better be listening.

“You’ll think it’s stupid,” Thomas mumbles.

“The girls got into a screaming match over a My Little Pony doll before school, and two rookies got scratched for coming to practice hungover,” Fourns says. “I have a high stupid threshold. Is it Connors? I talked to him, he—”

“You talked to him?” Thomas asks.

“Don’t change the subject, Tommo,” Fournier says. “Do I need to lecture Petrov on the care and feeding of baby goalies?”

“I’m not a baby,” Thomas mumbles, except maybe he is. Babies are needy.

“I’m twenty seconds away from handing the phone to Chloe,” Fournier says. 

“Don’t,” Thomas says. She’ll get it out of him in seconds. She’s got mom powers, even if she isn’t his mom. “Can you go into a different room if she’s there?”

Thomas can practically feel Fourns and Chloe exchanging glances, but he can also hear footsteps, and then a door shutting. “I’m holed up in the bathroom like a loser, because Chloe’s nosy,” Fourns says. “so I’m going to need you to talk to me for real now.”

“I just miss you guys,” Thomas says, voice wobbly. “I — Tony’s never around, and Connors hates me, and—”

“It’s not stupid to be lonely,” Fourns says, almost gentle.

“I’m being needy,” Thomas says.

“You keep saying that,” Fourns says. “Which fuckwit told you that? I swear to god.”

Thomas doesn’t say anything, just breathes too fast into the phone.

“I need to you to listen to me for a minute, okay?” Fournier says, and when Thomas doesn’t respond, “I need verbal confirmation, Vin.”

“Okay,” Thomas manages.

“Sit up straight,” Fourns says, and Thomas chokes out a laugh, because he knows exactly where this is going.

“Are you sitting up straight?” Fourns asks.

Thomas sits up straight.

“I want you to imagine a square,” Fournier says.

“Fourns, I’m not about to head on the ice,” Thomas protests, because this is when Fourns would pull it out. Thomas nearly had a panic attack his first time starting in the NHL, and it’d been Fourns in his ear, hand on his back almost impossible to feel through padding, talking him down in the bathroom, the two of them barely fitting, waddling out sideways once Thomas felt like he could breathe again.

“Less arguing, more imagining squares,” Fournier snaps, and Thomas laughs again, but dutifully closes his eyes.

“Now I want you to trace that square, and every time you turn a corner, I want you to breathe in or out, okay?” Fourns says.

“Okay,” Thomas mumbles, and the fourth time he’s traced it, his breathing’s mostly even.

“Good,” Fournier says, soft. “Now I want you to tell me what fucker Chloe’s going to have to beat up.”

Thomas laughs. “You guys don’t have to fight my battles for me,” he says.

“We know you can fight your own, kid,” Fourns says. “Chloe’s just violent.”

“I think this is one I need to do myself,” Thomas says.

“Well,” Fourns says. “We’re in your corner. You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” Thomas says.

He thinks of telling Fourns then. Thinks he’d listen, that he’d understand, or if he didn’t, that he’d try to. Thinks of Fourns crammed in the downstairs bathroom, probably leaning on the sink or sitting on the toilet lid, knees practically up to his nose in the small space, just because Thomas asked him.

He could tell him, right now, and he thinks Fourns would still be in his corner, and that’s the first time he’s really been sure of it, but he can’t fight more than one battle at a time, he doesn’t have it in him right now, and one of them feels a little more urgent.

“I need to—I think I need to do something right now,” Thomas says. “But I. Thanks, Mich.”

“Any time,” Fourns says. “And I mean that.”

“I know,” Thomas says, and he means it too.


End file.
